


knowledge of my sins

by orphan_account



Series: few things love better [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, sigh, wow i don't even know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-03 23:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles needs to be bitten and turned in order to save his life. Scott won't do it. Derek will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	knowledge of my sins

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt off of the Teen Wolf Kink Meme: "Stiles needs to be bitten and turned in order to save his life. Scott won't do it. Derek will."
> 
> This is going to be part of a series, so, keep on the look out for that! Unbeta'd.

In his own defense, Stiles didn’t actually  _ see _ the hunter hiding in the tree to his left–not that he would’ve, in the daylight even, because who the hell looks up instead of forward?–but he doubts Derek will listen to that point.    
  
Playing a game of “hunt down the helpless human” in the dark, in the middle of the woods probably wasn’t the smartest idea. But it's not like Stiles is known for his smart ideas–well, he is, but usually those smart ideas aren't so smart when he actually _thinks_ them through, like the whole 'search for a dead body in the middle of the woods _with_ a killer on the loose' thing. Whatever, it's not like he's perfect.

 

It's kind of surreal. He doesn't see the arrow coming towards him, doesn't even hear it, but suddenly where his chest was just covered in blue cotton, it's littered with red and his heart hammers just a little bit more, too. Even when the arrow actually pierces through Stiles’ chest, the only thing he can think about is how pissed Derek is going to be when he finds out that the pack ragdoll is dead.  
  
There’s no way Stiles is surviving this.  
  
He doesn’t feel the pain because of shock or maybe because it’s one of those situations where he’s going to die instantly–he’s pretty sure the arrow at least nicked his heart–and pain, in that case, is kind of useless. He’s not sure, he can’t be sure, because he’s doesn’t even know if he’s talking right now or thinking.   
  
It’s all very dramatic and Twilight-esque, with Stiles bleeding out on the forest floor and Scott racing up, human and thoroughly concerned. He actually drops to his knees in front of Stiles and everything. He may even see tears–manly, wolf tears, but tears nonetheless.  
  
“This–” Stiles chokes, or at least he thinks he does, “–this isn’t Twilight, Scott.”  
  
“Stiles!” Scott screeches, loud and unnecessary in his ear. “Stiles, you’re bleeding!”  
  
“Thank you,” Stiles rasps, “for pointing out the obvious–”  
  
“Oh shit, Stiles–” Scott cuts himself off. “I have to call Derek–” because apparently Scott, in his panic, cannot remember that he’s a werewolf and can actually summon Derek to him.  
  
Dumbass.  
  
Scott fucks off to go call Derek, or maybe he goes to actually get Derek, because he has superhuman speed and can actually do stuff like that. Like Captain America, or something, which makes Stiles Bucky in this situation–quite literally, actually, only Stiles isn’t swinging on some train door about to tumble to his death–and it’s not exactly as upsetting as it usually is.  
  
Stiles is probably going to die, here, laying out in the middle of the forest floor, and his dad isn’t even going to find out until tomorrow–and fuck. He doesn’t want to think about what this will do to his dad. They’re all each other really has at the end of the day, and to know that Stiles is fucking that up for him, forces him into this post-injury kind of heart attack.  
  
It probably does nothing to help the arrow sticking out of his chest, but hey, involuntary body reactions are always fun.  
  
“Derek’s on his way,” Scott says. “Just–just don’t die–”  
  
“Yeah,” Stiles snorts, before realizing that it hurts to do that. “I’ll try–”  
  
“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek growls.  
  
Stiles can say that he’s never been as happy as he was to see an angry, Alpha werewolf than he was right then.  
  
“Hi, there, Derek–” Stiles stammers. “I’m here, just, you know, bleeding out and stuff. You should try it sometime. It’s _awesome_.”  
  
Stiles hopes the sarcasm shows through. But it probably doesn’t. He can’t help it, it’s not like he’s _dying_ or anything.  
  
“What happened?” Derek asks, the question more for Scott than Stiles.   
  
Scott actually has the gall to look sheepish. Hah. “We were, uh, playing a game of tag–”  
  
“In the middle of the woods,” Derek says, deadpan.  
  
“Yes–”  
  
“In the dark.”  
  
Scott actually _blushes_. If Stiles was actually coherent right now, he would be enjoying this immensely. But you know, ah–pain.  
  
“Yes–”  
  
“ _Alone_. ”  
  
“Well, when you put it like that it actually sounds kind of stupid,” Scott argues, voice high and annoying.  
  
Derek’s eyes flash red, and Scott visibly deflates. “ _How_ exactly can you make this sound anything other than moronically dumb?”  
  
Scott stays silent.  
  
Scott: 0, Derek: 1  
  
*  
  
“Uh, guys,” Stiles whispers, some time later, “the pain is getting wors–” he chokes on the last word, because chest pain no matter how severe is seriously a bitch to live with for any period of time, especially one that’s as extended as this one.  
  
“We have to–” Derek says, cutting himself off at Scott’s pinched up, uncomfortable look. “One of us has to give him the bite.”  
  
“ _What_?” Scott screeches. “The last thing Stiles’ wants is to be a werewolf!”  
  
Derek scoffs. “No,” he says, slowly, like he’s talking to a petulant child. “The last thing Stiles wants is to be _dead_.”  
  
“Am I dying?”  yelps Stiles. He doesn’t think Derek will lie to him.  
  
“Yes,” Derek says.  
  
“No,” Scott yells, at the same time as Derek. He doesn’t sound so sure, though.  
  
Stiles looks between the both of them. “Well?”  
  
Derek looks pissed, and growls, “yes.”  
  
“No,” Scott says with the same ferocity, glaring at Derek’s perfectly gelled hair.  
  
“Scott,” Derek hisses, “stop that. Stop trying to protect him. He deserves the truth.”  
  
Scott turns to Stiles, begrudgingly. “You’re dying, man,” Scott says.  
  
Stiles looks at him, unimpressed, because _really_? “I know.”  
  
Derek looks smug, which is all kinds of wrong. “Now that that’s established, what are we going to _do_ about it?”  
  
“We’re not giving him the bite,” Scott says, stubbornly.  
  
Derek growls again, louder. “No, Scott. _You’re_ not turning him. Me, on the other hand–”  
  
“You don’t even know if he wants it!” Scott literally _screeches_.  
  
“You don’t know if he doesn’t.”  
  
Stiles thinks Derek is incredibly considerate and intelligent.   
  
Derek looks startled. Scott looks disgusted.  
  
“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” Stiles rasps, voice hurting his throat like it used to when he got strep.   
  
Derek nods; Scott, still, just looks disgruntled and like he ate some bad cheese. Stiles can’t really remember if there’s cheese out in the woods, because the forest around Beacon Hills probably isn’t your normal forest–it has _werewolves_ and shit. He’s startled because he doesn’t understand _why_ Scott would even _eat_ cheese that grows in the woods and hasn’t been sanitized yet, and then remembers that his best friend is actually pretty stupid and would probably do something like that. Because it’s Scott.  
  
Stiles doesn’t know what to do, not really. He doesn’t _want_ to be a werewolf–though he’s 99.9% sure that he’ll be a way better werewolf than Scott ever will be, and he’s seriously a horrible friend for even _thinking_ that, even if it’s true–but he’s also sure that he wants to be dead less.  
  
“Stiles,” Derek says, and he sounds strained and under stress, and faintly, Stiles thinks he might want to give Derek a bone. Maybe. He’s trying not to think because for once, thinking actually seriously hurts. He turns to Scott, “I need to do it now. If he wants it.”  
  
Stiles can feel himself fading, and it’s the weirdest thing he’s ever felt. He thinks of his family cat that died three years ago, and how she cuddled up next to him the night before she died–which she had never done before; Stiles had thought he had rolled over in his sleep and killed her, which was an awful experience in general. He didn’t understand it then, why she came into his room and snuggled with him, but now he thinks he does.  
  
“Stiles,” Derek says, and if possible, he sounds more uncomfortable than before. “I hate to ask this but–”  
  
“I can’t leave my dad–especially not now–” And he can’t, he really can’t. He’s just really starting to smile again without the strain around his eyes, is starting to get that skip back in his step, is starting to drink less and eat healthier, and Stiles will be damned if he takes that away from him. He just got it back, and it’s an incredibly selfish and foolish thing to have a fix–no matter how much Stiles doesn’t want it–right in front of him and not take it.  
  
“I’ll–” Stiles rasps, “I’ll still be me, right?”   
  
Derek nods. “I wouldn’t have offered otherwise,” he says, but it feels like a lie.  
  
“You guys–” Scott cuts in.  
  
“Scott. Shut up! It’s not your decision.”  
  
“I wish it was,” Scott whispers, and he actually sounds kind of sad, like his best friend who is a human becoming a werewolf is possibly the worst thing in the world.   
  
“I know,” Stiles repeats, because he does.  
  
“Do it,” Stiles whispers, “Just – do it.”  
  
There’s almost no pain. He can feel Derek’s teeth sink into his neck, but it’s like cutting through butter. There’s no pain until there suddenly is, hot and heavy and burning and utterly unbearable. It’s the kind of pain that’s unignorable, one that demands to be noticed and Stiles grips at his and his side–he’s not sure which Derek bit, or maybe he bit both, maybe it would make the bite spread faster; Stiles doesn’t know, and he doesn’t want to find out, either–because he’s not sure if he can actually _deal_ with this right now.  
  
“Fuck–” Stiles chokes out, and then there’s nothing.  
  
*  
  
“Are you sure he’ll wake up?”  
  
Derek growls, or at least, Stiles _thinks_ it’s Derek. “I’m sure. His heartbeat is almost perfect now.”  
  
Stiles doesn’t know why, but he can’t open his eyes. He should be freaking out about this, because not being able to open his eyes isn’t good, but he’s calm and patient, and that’s not something he’s used to.  
  
“He’s been like this for hours–” Scott says “–why didn’t this happen to me?”  
  
“You were just bitten,” Derek says, and yeah, that’s pretty much common sense right there. Stiles morns quietly for Scott’s lack of baseline intelligence. “Stiles was bitten in a life or death situation. His body is fighting two different infections right now–”  
  
“ _Infections_?”  
  
Derek sighs. “You know what I mean, Scott.”  
  
“Can he still die?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Will he die?”  
  
“I don’t know. Possibly.”  
  
“Then why’d you _bite_ him in the first place?” Scott asks, not understanding.  
  
Derek growls, high and pissed in his throat. Stiles wants to shake, but he’s pretty sure he doesn’t. “Because,” he pauses. “At least I _tried_. At least I _did_ something.” And that feels like a smack to the face, and Stiles isn’t even _Scott_.  
  
Scott doesn’t say anything.  
  
Scott: 0, Derek: 2  
  
*  
  
It’s hours later when Stiles finally wakes.  
  
He feels different, but somehow the same, too, almost like he’s still himself but just. . .a different version of himself, or something. Yeah, he’s not really positive, but he just woke up and he’s running on empty, so it’s not like there should be a lot expected of him now or anything.   
  
“Derek?” He asks, because being a werewolf is something he doesn’t want to think about, especially not now.  
  
There’s a pressure on his chest that Stiles knows is Derek because he can _smell_ it.   
  
That’s odd.  
  
And kind of fucking _awesome_.  
  
“Stiles.”  
  
“So,” Stiles starts, “I’m not dead,” he offers finally, but it’s more of a question.  
  
“No,” Derek agrees. “You’re very much alive.”  
  
“That’s–that’s good.” Stiles says.  
  
“Where’s Scott?” He asks, before Derek can say anything more, because not having his best friend by him when he seriously _needs_ him–fucking werewolf, and all–is terrifying and not as surprising as he thought it would be.   
  
Scott’s barely been there, lately, but he’s choosing not to focus on that. It’s worse than realizing he’s no longer _human_ anymore.  
  
He’s not sure how pathetic that actually is.  
  
“He left to go get you some food,” Derek says. “He said you’d be hungry. I think he’s getting you tacos.”  
  
Stiles nods. “Okay,” Stiles says, because he’s _totally_ fine with that. Food is awesome. Scott is awesome for getting Stiles some awesome food. “Okay,” he repeats.  
  
“Are you okay?” Derek asks, which is weird and extremely out of character but Stiles rolls with it, because maybe they have this weird connection now where Derek will refuse to slam Stiles up against harsh surfaces. He doesn’t think that’s likely, though.  
  
Stiles shrugs. “I’m trying not to think about it, because you know, killer supernatural being and all. ‘Will Probably Kill Father’ is like, written on my forehead in bright red now.”  
  
Derek shakes his head. “I won’t let you do that,” says Derek, with this kind of determinism that is usually reserved for sitting around and making Scott and Stiles his slaves to do his stupid housework, while he sits on his scruffy werewolf ass and reads supernatural _romance_ novels.  
  
Derek, Stiles is convinced, is just a huge, big girl inside.  
  
With _feelings_.  
  
Stiles doesn’t say anything, so Derek forces him to meet his eyes. “I’ll help you, you know.”  
  
Stiles smiles, for the first time in a long time. “I know.”  
  
  
  



End file.
